


To See Through Another's Eyes

by Obsidian_Arrowhead



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ... sorta?, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Good luck!, Goshiki Tsutomu-centric, Haikyuu Angst Week 2020, Hurt/Comfort, I heard that he never gets to go to Spring High, I'm well aware this is less angsty than it could have been but I tried-, Of sorts?, Third Year Goshiki Tsutomu, Washijou isn't entirely a douche, also blame the start of chapter 190 that for some reason isn't in the anime but anyway-, also this could be read as Goshiki/Hinata if you want?, also why is Yamagata & Goshiki not a tag-, anyway I love Goshiki and he deserves all the love please hug him for me-, anywho-, blame, have fun (;, so-, uh i love them all and they all love Goshiki but-, who knows-, whoops-, why must I hurt my favourite characters, with me there's always angst but
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27461425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsidian_Arrowhead/pseuds/Obsidian_Arrowhead
Summary: "I'm counting on you," Wakatoshi Ushijima tells him, and he does not burst into flame, but tears.Soon, though, the tears will dry. And what is left?
Relationships: Goshiki Tsutomu & Hinata Shouyou, Goshiki Tsutomu & Kawanishi Taichi, Goshiki Tsutomu & Oohira Reon, Goshiki Tsutomu & Semi Eita, Goshiki Tsutomu & Shirabu Kenjirou, Goshiki Tsutomu & Shiratorizawa Academy Volleyball Club, Goshiki Tsutomu & Tendou Satori, Goshiki Tsutomu & Ushijima Wakatoshi, Goshiki Tsutomu & Washijou Tanji, Goshiki Tsutomu & Yamagata Hayato
Comments: 10
Kudos: 47





	To See Through Another's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently Goshiki never gets to go to Nationals and I couldn't just leave it there, could I? This was half-inspired by angst week and a fan art I saw on Instagram... then I found Chapter 190 and this happened, so...
> 
> I actually read through this one so hopefully there aren't too many mistakes, but feel free to let me know if there are!
> 
> Hope you enjoy! (:

**“I’m counting on you.”**

Out of the things he could have said - Goshiki may be prideful during a match, but his head always catches up far too quickly, he’s well aware that he’s not perfect (far from perfect) - and yet, out of all the things he could have said, Wakatoshi Ushijima does not comment on his receives, nor his blocks, not even his mental fortitude - something which he’s struggling with right in that moment - no. Shiratorizawa’s ace, the top three in Japan, their- his- the captain of Shiratorizawa’s volleyball club does not choose to comment on any of Tsutomu Goshiki’s shortcomings, even as he had with Kawanishi, Shirabu, Umeda, Yunohama, Sagae, Suzuki, every other player who wasn’t a third year and therefore leaving the team, regardless of whether they’d ever stepped on the court this season. He does not comment on anything, in fact, and Goshiki knows that it’s not because Ushiwaka looks down on him or has not been watching him. Knows because he had received other comments, throughout the Spring Inter-high, right up until now, that clearly said otherwise. And now, in front of their whole team, all the retiring third years and the first year bench warmers and Shirabu and Kawanishi who he’d shared the court with this year, Goshiki expects to be chewed out, dreads it, waits for all his mistakes and shortcomings to be pointed out, waits for more room for them to tease, more fuel to the fire, just another thing to dwell on whenever he’s not totally absorbed in the game they’ve all dedicated a sizeable amount of their lives to.

He stands there, expecting it - he’s last, afterall, and at the time he doesn’t think that’s a good thing, still isn’t sure if it was, though it may have been intended as a good thing (Ushiwaka is, as most know, notoriously hard to read), but all he’s been doing is letting his crappy mental fortitude run away on him - and yet. Yet, the man who is going to join Japan’s Under-19 team the very next year, who might even become ace of Japan’s official team one day- he does not do anything of the sort. Instead, he chooses the words Goshiki least expected, and the words that will keep him up, keep him going, keep him staying behind after everyone, keep that almost Oikawa-like intensity manifesting inside of him, keep him standing strong and practicing harder than he probably would have had they been any others, those four words that he’s told.  _ I’m counting on you _ . And he does not explode into fire, but tears, and he knows that this will stick with him for eons, even then. This and Reon’s  _ Washijo’s the hardest on you because he expects the most from you _ , Shirabu’s constant stream of  _ improve your skills before you make bold statements _ , Tendou’s encouragement in the ways of  _ I’m sure you’ll get there one day, future ace _ , Taichi’s comments of  _ stop babying him, Tendou _ , Semi’s cool intensity, Yamagata’s hand on his shoulder after they’d lost. But it is Ushiwaka’s words - four, short, straight to the point,  _ I’m counting on you _ \- which will stick with him the longest, stay like an itch that can’t quite be scratched, like the perfect description that you can’t seem to think of until it’s too late. It stays with him for years, with every late night, every insult, every half-compliment, every yell directed at him by Washijo-sensei, every serve, every receive, every block, every spike, all the wins, and then, always, twice a year, and whenever he watches back the videos, every time they lose.  _ I’m counting on you _ reverberates inside his skull, multiple times each day, sometimes a constant stream, until it has almost lost all meaning. But the thing is, it doesn’t lose all meaning. He wishes it had.

Because out of all the times they lose, after, and the one before, it is always in the finals, always to Karasuno, and always mostly by faults of his own.

_ I’m counting on you _ , and oh how he wishes it was never said, most of the time wishing he’d been chewed out instead, but it stays and it stays and it stays, and it seems Ushijima Wakatoshi was the wrong ace to challenge, however one-sided it may have been.

Even as Tsutomu Goshiki makes it up the ranks, his name whispered more and more by those of other schools, even some in Tokyo, Fukurodani, Nekoma, at training camps, to aces and blockers and liberos and spikers and captains, vice captains, managers, the greats and the not-so-greats, he finds that it does not matter. He does not catch fire, there is no flame, there is barely anything, because Ushiwaka had said  _ I’m counting on you _ , and what did anything mean if he wasn’t someone to be counted upon?

He stays out of rivalries from then on, even as the stupid chibi-chan carrot head gives him the most compliments he’s had since the year before, even as he simultaneously wants to punch his face in and hug him, because he’s learnt that lesson - one-sided rivalries are like one-sided love, like anything which remains unreturned, unrequited - and he will not  _ lose _ , he cannot lose, because his captain had once said  _ I’m counting on you _ , and Tsutomu Goshiki is not one to let people down.

So, he practices his straight until his hand starts bleeding, until he can’t  _ see straight _ anymore, and even then continues until he can barely stand, because he didn’t care, not really, but they’d thought it was a fluke and he  _ would not let Ushiwaka down _ . Then, his serve, because that can always be improved, be faster, more controlled, stronger, more powerful, more deadly, more of a weapon. A perfect serve could win you a game all in one go, not that it ever has (as far as he knows). When that is done, chest heaving and legs chained to the floor, he moves onto receives, dipping low and springing back up, ready to move once again. Watches the stupid chibi-chan, sees his little jump, utilises it, gets to the ball, runs, runs, runs, refuses to let it hit the floor, and for his troubles he’s rewarded with bruises as black as the night that he practices into and joints that want him to lie down and never use them again, lying on the floor after one and feeling like he’ll never get up again. But he does get up, because  _ I’m counting on you _ Ushiwaka had told him, and he would not let him down. He starts blocking, watches Dateko and their reads, the setter who’d wanted his email who he never has time to reply to, sees the way glasses from  _ Karasuno _ is always there, follows it, follows the ball, forces his eyes to concentrate on nothing but the spinning blur until he goes cross-eyed and nearly trips over his own feet, until he jumps up again and again, legs feeling the effects of gravity and arms aching with the sting of the ball long after he has retired to his dorm for homework and the sleep he chases after day in and day out, never quite there but not letting himself stop because  _ I’m counting on you _ , Ushiwaka, the no.3 in all Japan had told him, once, and Goshiki would not let him down.

The day Shirabu hands him the keys, those that only the captain is allowed to hold, is the same day he has lost to Karasuno for the third time, because Tsutomu Goshiki had gone to Nationals, once, in high school, when he was nothing but a bench warmer. It is done without much ceremony, actually, just a simple toss that his carefully honed reflexes allow him to catch easily. Then, Shirabu stands in front of his team, silent, until he tells them one thing.

“Goshiki-san will be your captain from now on. I’m sure you all know that despite his shortcomings, you can all count on him.”  _ Count on him _ , like Ushiwaka had said, exactly a year ago,  _ I’m counting on you _ , and there is still no fire, but no tears either, he just stands there, back straight and staring out at those who would now call him captain.

And then, later, when it is just him left in the gym, as is usual nowadays, more.

“Win back our title, Tsutomu. I believe in you. Don’t make it all mean nothing.”

_ Don’t make it all mean nothing _ ,  _ Win back our title _ ,  _ I believe in you _ ,  _ I’m counting on you _ ,  _ Despite his shortcomings _ , and now, a year after the fire turned to tears, a chorus.

“Captain!”

Washijo-sensei will tell him something on that day, too, something which just adds to everything else in his head.

“I will be leaving after next year, so you better not allow me to leave on a sore note,  _ Captain Goshiki-kun _ .”

_ He expects the most from you _ , Reon tells him, a year ago, when he’s standing on centre court for the first time in his life, no longer sitting on the bench or in the stands, but truly on the court. It was not his last time on the court, of course, but any chance he had or has to go any further rests in the hands of one stupid chibi-chan carrot top and the team they each play with.

“Yes sir!” He yells at Washijo-sensei, loudly and without fire nor tears, with a salute thrown, even, and then there is a nod from their- his coach and he leaves the office, key in hand.

He starts training his team for Nationals the next day, though of course it is not the Nationals which rests heavy on his shoulders, but the weight of those words and the stupid chibi-chan who doesn’t seem to realise just how much Goshiki wants to strangle, or punch, or just- ugh. He trains his team, starts training them, and in the process sees and feels himself become as mean as Shirabu, as harsh as their coach, yet as comforting as Yamagata and as truthful as Reon, as reassuring as Tendou, as loud as Semi, and as snappish as Taichi. Then there is Wakatoshi, and he does not feel himself become as  _ anything _ as Wakatoshi. He is not as stoic, as strong, as highly ranked, as good, not as  _ anything _ , except maybe as much of the position of both captain and ace (but this Goshiki, the Goshiki who stands on the court at the Interhigh Prelims, in June of 2014, at 17-almost-18, the Goshiki who does not think that he deserves that title, either of them, not anymore, does not see it, not if he has never once won a final while on the court, not in middle school, high school, elementary, not as a captain, nor an ace. This Goshiki, the new Goshiki, who has only ever been to Nationals as a bench warmer, this new Goshiki to which it just seemed to make sense, he is not as  _ anything _ as Wakatoshi, not with all of  _ that _ ). And yet, they still call him  _ Ace _ , this team that he is set to lead. They call him  _ Ace _ , and  _ Captain _ , and he doesn’t know what to do with that, because he is not Wakatoshi Ushijima, he never will be, and he’s not as good as him, either, not better, not  _ anything _ , couldn’t possibly be anything, not to him.

And the words of those above him, those gone, those who stare, those who coach, all of them, they run around his head, and as his team loses the July finals in Miyagi (because he is the captain now, and the ace, this is his team, even if he’s not Wakatoshi Ushijima-), the crowd adds new words to the mess that is his train of thought.

“Guess we have new fallen champions, huh? Wingless… eagles?”

“Just fallen champions, dude. No one calls them eagles anymore.”

They fly around his head, in the bus and in the gym, 100 serves each - something he has come to consider common, a reflex, no longer a punishment but something he can use to improve, so that he doesn’t have to let them down - and they follow him even as he is the last left in the gym, not for the first time (far from the first time).

_ New fallen champions _ ,  _ No one calls them eagles anymore _ ,  _ I will be leaving after next year _ ,  _ You better not allow me to leave on a sore note _ ,  _ Captain _ ,  _ He expects the most from you _ ,  _ I will force you to run home while I wave from the bus _ ,  _ Back when I was first year he actually made us do that _ ,  _ Don’t make it all mean nothing _ ,  _ Win back our title _ ,  _ I believe in you _ ,  _ Despite his shortcomings _ ,  _ Improve your skills before you make bold statements _ ,  _ I’m sure you’ll get there one day _ ,  _ Future ace _ ,  _ Ace _ ,  _ Stop babying him _ , and  _ You can all count on him _ , eerily similar to those first words, the ones spoken to him a year and a half ago, now.

_ I’m counting on you _ .

They are all counting on him, he knows, and it is that night, the moon high in the sky like so many other nights, the stars that he’d only once seen (un-seen) blocked by light pollution, when he’d been a bench warmer, when they’d gone to Nationals, the only time he’d ever left Miyagi, it is that night that the fire that had turned to tears that had since disappeared decides to come back with a vengeance, and he stands on the court - his court, in his gym, at Shiratorizawa, the place where he is not both captain and ace - holding a volleyball in his hands, squeezing it, in fact, it is that night that something, somehow, changes.

It is June 21st, 2014, a Saturday, the day of the Summer Interhigh Preliminaries Final for the Miyagi Prefecture, and the Spring Interhigh Prelims Final is on October 25th, also a Saturday and in exactly four months and four days, or eighteen weeks, or precisely 126 days.

126 days. In 126 days, he will stand on the court, and he will be victorious. He has to be. For Ushiwaka and Shirabu and everyone who is counting on him, for Washijo-sensei and for all the sleepless nights.

He has to win.

Has to make them proud.

Has to be someone they can count on.

With this in mind, he takes all the sleepless nights and multiplies them almost tenfold, forces his team into spikes, receives, blocks, forces himself into positions he was unaware were possible, trains harder, runs faster, jumps higher, hits stronger, and finally, he stands on centre court for what will be the final time, regardless of how today goes.

Today, for the first time in a long time, his head has quietened. His focus is on nothing but the ball, its course, and how he can stop it from hitting the floor on his side of the net, how he can force it to touch down on the other side. Today, he is not thinking of who could be counting on him, is not thinking of who will fall today, not thinking of the people who had built him up, nor those who had torn him down. He is no longer thinking of the fire or the tears, not even the nothing that had come after, instead thinking of nothing but the fact that he  _ has _ to win, he absolutely has to.

He starts off serving, wins nine consecutive points for his team before Karasuno’s new libero scoops the ball up, the ‘genius’ setter sets it, and the chibi-chan shoots it down, completely opposite to where he is standing and right onto the hardwood of the court.

“There was no avoiding that,” he calls out, and they nod, and the game continues.

They win the first set.

For everything that has happened since Goshiki had stepped onto the court, this is one thing which has never changed. Shiratorizawa has never once lost the first set.

The second set climbs into the 35+ mark, and he nearly breaks his ankle in a dive for the ball, but the set point goes to Karasuno, and Goshiki stands back up.

Chibi-chan is spouting something off to his setter, but Shiratorizawa’s captain stands in front of his team and tells them to just take the next set, they will be fine.

And take it they do, set point coming at 27-25, the earliest so far.

Glasses stares at him for slightly too long, Shiratorizawa’s ace being the one who’d scored last, a straight that had barely missed the antennae (something they knew, now, was not and had never been  _ just a fluke _ -). He does not let it take him, standing in front of his team, tall and strong and dependable, and telling them that they have this. Just win the next set.

47-49 is almost unheard of, but he refuses to let the ball fall, drags himself across the court multiple times, stretches his arms and legs at almost inhumane angles, spikes it to the chibi-chan, the bad receivers, anywhere they will struggle to pick it back up, utilises his read blocking, refuses to let it pass by his arms, not if he can stop it, serves to the empty spaces, the corners, with a strength he hadn’t had before, but in the end his legs just stop, and the ball falls a mere centimetre in front of the hand he’d stretched out as far as it would go, a second too late because he’d basically just fallen, no finesse whatsoever in it, his legs refusing to propel him the inch he needed.

But Tsutomu Goshiki does not take failure easily, and anger fires inside him, hot and sharp, all directed at his legs and the ball and the jump he hadn’t been able to make. He is crumbling, but still, the thoughts do not come back. Not yet. There are fifteen more points, and he tells his team as much, and secretly (not so secretly, because every set today, going on tonight, had gone to a deuce so far) wonders just how many more there will be tonight.

The fifth set, he can hear the tired pants of himself and his teammates and Karasuno, the held breaths of every person gathered in this gym, staring at the centre court, at the players and himself and the chibi-chan and the  _ score _ .

The score… it climbs. It climbs and climbs, like the mountain he’d climbed, like the mountain Ushiwaka had been.

First, 15-15.

16-15.

16-16.

17-16.

17-17.

On and on, Shiratorizawa more often than not being the ones on match point. Goshiki absolutely  _ will not _ lose this, words be damned, but neither will Karasuno, nor their chibi-chan. No one goes into a match  _ wanting to lose _ , afterall. That is simply unheard of. One might expect to lose, even lose their fight halfway through, but no one goes into a match  _ wanting  _ to lose. And  _ no one _ makes it all the way to the Spring Interhigh Prelims for the Miyagi Prefecture with losing in mind.

23-23.

23-24.

24-24.

25-24.

25-25.

26-25.

26-26.

The score makes it to the thirties, over half of what this set is supposed to go to. Goshiki is  _ dying _ , his legs want to collapse, his hand is rubbed raw, there are bruises clouding his arms, his eyes, for once not heavy with sleep (for he had always been able to sleep the night before a game, thank god-), instead blurry with the focus they’d kept on the ball the whole game, and his head spinning with strategy - not words, because those words had only ever left a bad taste - and at times he forgets, even, where he is, what he is doing, exactly, body and mind exhausted beyond comprehension, and those are the moments that they start losing, the moments following which he refuses to allow it. Not again. Not a fifth time. Not while he can help it.

38-37.

38-38.

39-38.

39-39.

39-40.

40-40.

41-40.

41-41.

Their second time out comes after Goshiki, the captain and the ace of his team, had missed what was possibly the easiest block of the game - a weak spike, no spin, yet moving fast enough to still have a clear trajectory, the setter’s body clear in where it was going to go, the set a bit low - and Washijo does not yell, even. Barely does anything. But he is not called the demon coach for nothing.

“If you lose,” he says, staring straight into Goshiki’s eyes, and it is only now that he realises that Washijo-sensei had not told anyone else about his leaving - no news outlet stories, no whispers in the clubroom, not the changing room, not during training, not anything, not  _ anywhere  _ \- and something about that, the fact that he is the only person here who knows, the only person here who has been told, just another thing that he’s been told, and Tsutomu Goshiki barely hears Washijo’s next words, a mirror of two years ago, saying “I will make you all run back to Shiratorizawa while I wave from the bus,” because suddenly the words are all back. Every single one of them.

It’s not just the usual suspects, not anymore, but now he’s hearing every fault he’s ever had pointed out to him, the long-ago and half forgotten praises from middle school and elementary, chibi-chan’s words of praise, Ushiwaka’s advice and his final words to the team, of course  _ I’m counting on you _ right there, to top it all off.

He hears all of this pass through his head in those few seconds, remembers it all, the praise, the taunts, the pride, the shame, and the nerve, the anger, and suddenly, Goshiki has been set aflame once more.

Set aflame, and he scores the points.

Set aflame, and he sets up blocks.

Set aflame, and he dives for receives.

Set aflame, and he is someone they can count on.

Set aflame, and he is still not enough.

The score goes higher than ever before - past the forties, fifties, everyone aching and falling and no one flying any longer, though the score flies and the ball flies and the moon comes out to watch - into the sixties, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, and then…

63-63, the scoreboard announces.

63-64, and they are losing. He is losing.

63-65, and it is match point, and they are done, and they collapse, all but one, their captain, their ace, who stands and stares at the only thing he can really make out through his blurry eyes, at the stupid orange blob currently on the ground, and he is above him but it does not feel like it, because it’s only literal but he has not yet, has not-

And then they are standing in a line, watching Karasuno accept the trophy and their medals, and Goshiki had stood on centre court today, and tonight. The most, in fact. He had not taken a foot off it since he’d first served the first ball over, nearly four hours ago.

Still has not taken a foot off, and then Washijo stays true to his promise, makes them run home, except no one is really running, no one really can, no one but Tsutomu Goshiki, because he refuses to let them see the tears.

He does not want them to see the tears, and to be perfectly fair he succeeds. The team he had captained does not see his tears.

His team, though, the team that had won until he’d joined them (because that will forever be how he remembers them, now) - Tendou, Reon, Yamagata, Shirabu, Semi, Kawanishi, and, of course, Ushiwaka - are all standing there, in the gym, in his gym, when he unlocks the door after multiple failed attempts with shaking fingers.

He finally gets it open, and brings a hand up to his eyes, to wipe the tears but also because he cannot see straight, and so he does not immediately see the group gathered in front of him. Doesn’t see them, at first, but he certainly hears them.

“Goshiki-kun!”

“Captain-kun,”

“Goshiki-san.”

And then he looks up, tries to adjust to the strong lights inside the gym, blinks a bit because this can’t be right, can it? Why would- how-

He doesn’t realise he’s voiced his confusion until Reon speaks up.

“We all promised each other to see your game today, and we couldn’t just not congratulate you.”

And now he’s definitely hallucinating.

“C-congratulate?”

He hates how he’s turned back into who he was two years ago, in front of these people, but at the same time it doesn’t feel all that bad. And yet, it does, it does, because, because-

“Of course, current-ace!” That’s Tendou, and he’s flopping forward, toward Goshiki, and smiling in that Tendou way of his.

“Dude,” Semi says. “You played at least 120% today, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Hayato has never much been one for words, but he smiles, a real, true smile, and reaches forward to clap Goshiki on the shoulder.

“I would say they’re babying you,” starts Taichi, gesturing mostly at Tendou, who sticks his tongue out in return, “but seriously, Goshiki-san, you did great.”

“Yeah, captain-san. I don’t think you have all that much to work on anymore,” and that’s Shirabu, the same Shirabu who’d only ever had insults and ego-blows to feed him.

And then it’s all up to him, the one who had started the words and extinguished the fire simultaneously.

“Goshiki-san,” Ushijima Wakatoshi says.

“Y-yes?” and it’s back to then, back to the  _ I’m counting on you _ , but right now his brain is far too exhausted to short circuit as it had back then.

“You played very well today, and we are all very proud. I am sure you are exhausted.”

The other make noises of agreement, but all Goshiki can think of is  _ I’m counting on you _ , and that he’d failed, and why were they-

He speaks up before he can overthink it too much, his mouth moving of its own volition.

“B-ut you said, you said you were counting on me. I failed you.” and then he bows, almost ninety degrees, despite how everything aches, protests. “I’m sorry!”

“Goshiki-san,” and that sounds weird, what happened to the -kun- “You have not failed me, nor anyone else. You worked harder than anyone on that court, Karasuno was simply stronger.”

And he wants to say more, because that is simply not true, of course he’s failed them, he’s definitely failed himself, but this is when Washijo-sensei - likely drawn by the noise - shows himself in the gym.

“Ah, Goshiki-kun. Good to see our captain has not been slacking in his duties.”

“Yes sir!” He shouts, suddenly all-attention. But this is when Washijo notices everyone else.

“How good to see you all again. Especially you, Wakatoshi-kun. I have seen your recent matches.”

Goshiki almost thinks he’s been spared, but the coach turns back to him.

“Goshiki-kun!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Go rescue the rest of your team, we’ll have a debrief in ten minutes. Do not take any longer.”

He hears someone let out a low whistle, but he is already nodding, turning, away from the people he still feels like he’s failed and towards the stars he has always been able to see.

Finding the twelve other members of his team and getting them back to the gym within ten minutes is hard, and he absolutely just wants to collapse, but their coach makes them stand around and he talks, and then at the end he tells everyone else.

“I will be retiring today. As this is my final day, I will let you off early. You are excused from your serves. Go and rest.”

The rest of the team follow his directions, and Washijo disappears again. Goshiki has to be the last in the gym anyway, has been the last one in the gym for as long as anyone here can remember, and so no one bats an eye when he doesn’t follow his team (the team he’s pretty sure he’s failed) outside.

Instead, he sets up the net, takes out a basket of balls, picks one up, and starts serving.

He’s gotten so used to it, it’s almost calming. It’d be weird not to.

Even if they’d won.

The only thoughts that go through his tired skull are those of the number he’s up to, and it’s the 63rd - how satirical - when Washijo-sensei calls out to him.

“Goshiki-kun!”

“Uh,” he begins.  _ Intelligent _ . “Y-yes, sir?”

“What are you still doing here? Did I not excuse your from serves?”

“No, s-sir. You did.”

“Why are you still here, then?”

“U-uh-”

But his exhausted brain cannot think up a reasonable excuse… can’t really think up anything at this moment.

“You are lucky I already signed the paperwork for my retirement, or I would assign you detention for staying into the early hours.”

“S-sorry sir,” he says, and then starts thinking. And, dammit, first of all, he’s been here ages if it’s past midnight, how-

And second, he thinks that he’d failed Washijo, too.

“Sorry sir!” He yells, louder and accompanied by another ninety degree bow.

“What are you screeching about now?”

“It- it was your last year, a-as a coach, that is, and I f-failed you. I’m sorry!” He yells again, still bowing, and he doesn’t move until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Goshiki-kun. You played well today. I am not disappointed.”

“S-sir?” Because he had not once heard such high words of praise from the rightly-labelled demon coach.

“You are continuing volleyball, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well then you have not failed me.” Goshiki thinks he hears a  _ not yet _ , hidden, but before he can dwell on it too much, Washijo-sensei continues. “You have continued to improve, and today you played the best game I have ever seen from an individual player. Keep that up, and you will beat that number 10 middle blocker one day.”

Washijo-sensei pats his shoulder once more, and Goshiki is speechless, and as the older man leaves he says one final thing.

“Rest, Goshiki-kun. No more serves tonight.”

He doesn’t know how he does it, packing up, cleaning the gym, but he does, and then he makes his way to his bed, and collapses on it, absolutely exhausted.

He’s asleep before he even gets the covers up.

In the days that follow, he hands over the key. Crowns a new captain, and doesn’t say anything too direct, doesn’t say anything that would leave a weight he is not sure he will ever fully get rid of. What he does say, though, is this:

“You are a really good team, and next year Karasuno won’t have their quick attack duo anymore. This team, together, can win. I believe it, I believe in all of you. Stand tall, train hard, and you will make us all proud. I’m counting on you,” he finishes on, but this time it is not directed at a single first year, but a team of eight, both first and second years, soon to be the second and third years, as well as whoever joins them next year.

“Yes, captain!” They yell at him, a final time, and he is able to turn and leave, weight not fully off his shoulders, but certainly lessened.

He leaves Shiratorizawa Academy, steps off the court, and watches the Nationals on his phone and tablet for the fifth time in three years (at least Tendou and Shirabu aren’t trying to watch over his shoulder, anymore).

And then, he moves on. Becomes an outside hitter for the Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets, a pro volleyball team in Div 1 of Japan’s V. League. Plays with greats like Wakatsu Kiryuu, the no.1 ace in Japan (at least when he’d been a first year-). Once again, he’s at the bottom, but now, he is in Tokyo, where the stars don’t shine, but they’re still just as bright as anywhere else, and he finally feels at home.

And the day he beats Shouyou Hinata, well. That is the day the tears flow freely, unrestricted, in front of everything and everyone, there for the whole world to see.

He is free, the weight finally off his shoulders, his breaths coming easier than ever before, and able to stand tall and feel it, too.

_ I’m counting on you _ , Ushijima Wakatoshi had once told him, and he’d believed him.

And now, he’d succeeded. Finally understood.

He had not failed them, and for the first time in a long time, he has not failed himself.

He is finally free, and he smiles at the starless sky that night, palm stinging from the hundred serves which had stuck as a habit long after Washijo had retired.

He feels the flames finally rising in his gut, this time not ridiculously strong, not uncontrollable, but steady.

Steady, because he is steady, and he thinks his mental fortitude has finally caught up. That he finally deserves it.

He is ready for whatever comes next, steady in himself and his abilities, in his belief in himself, and finally he has not let himself down.

He is free, and that is all that matters.

(though truly, he’d won. He’d been most excited about that, about beating chibi-chan)

Tsutomu Goshiki was indeed someone to count on, and he had finally proved it to himself, even when those both on and off the court had known it long before.

Self love can take a long time, but once you get there, it is certainly worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Goshiki is a precious baby who must be protected at all costs, I hope I didn't hurt him too much-
> 
> Also I know that the score gets kinda ridiculous, I think the highest in an official match was forty-something, but- Goshiki- it just felt right, y'know?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Obsidian.


End file.
